My Case For Melissa McCarthy

Well, the Academy Awards are finally here.  And while all decisions have been made, envelopes sealed, scripts written, etc, I felt compelled to make one final plea in favor of a nominee.  No, this time the plea is not for Meryl, who is arguably the best actress of my generation if not ever.  This time, my plea goes out for proper recognition of Melissa McCarthy, nominated tonight for her incredible performance in Bridesmaids.

If you've seen the movie (and you really must), you'll agree that all the characters are well-written and acted.  But Melissa created something indelible in "Megan", the fight-club loving, nuclear engineer who doesn't give a crap what anyone thinks of her.  She's brilliant, brutally honest and more than a little sexually adventurous.  She steals every scene she's in, eating it up like a bad Brazilian lunch.

And yes, while tonight's favorite Octavia Spencer had some good lines and one killer scene in The Help, the character she played was already well-structured in the novel.  Melissa created a character from nothing, with only dialogue (some of which she improvised) to go on.  Much the same way Johnny Depp created a legendary pirate out of nothing (and was egregiously overlooked for it), Melissa's Megan will be a Hallowe'en costume that will be instantly recognized through time.

So there it is - I'm putting it out there:  Melissa McCarthy should win the Oscar, but won't.  I guess the good is that we all know who she is now, and that she is sadly wasting her time and talent on that crappy TV show, whose first and only episode I caught only after watching "Bridesmaids".  Tonight will be fun with friends, but I will feel a little sad for Melissa.

Sexist Egotistical Lying Hypocritical Bigot

Jane Fonda's character, Judy Bernly, said it so well in the movie "9 to 5" when referring to her boss, Franklin Hart.  And the description was so accurate, it would be almost incomprehensible to imagine that it would actually fit a real-live person.  Oh, but it does.

Sexist - Newt Gingrich has certainly demonstrated through his repeated marital infidelity that he has a lack of respect for women.  And pundits were falling all over themselves following Gingrich's treatment of Michele Bachmann during the Iowa Republican debate. 

Egotistical - The GinGrinch's personal assessments, comparing himself to Thomas Edison, the Duke of Wellington, Henry Clay, and even (gasp!) Abraham Lincoln, are outlandish at best and dangerous at worst.

Lying - Newt  claims that "more people have been put on food stamps by Barack Obama than any president in American history." He's wrong. More were added under Bush than under Obama, according to the most recent figures.  Although we only have numbers through last October, food stamp recipients have grown by 14.2 million under Obama. During Bush's first two years in office, the increase was 14.7 million. 

Hypocritical - Gingrich has long traveled the country espousing family values and dispensing moral advice. Yet so often, the Newt of his dreams gets tramped on by the Newt of reality. There's simply too much difference between what he preaches and what he actually does.We've seen this in his attacks on other candidates — such as his criticism of Mitt Romney for his role in the buyout industry. "I'm proud of real capitalists," Gingrich said, but private equity work, he huffed, "is not venture capital."  Meanwhile, we find out that Gingrich was paid $40,000 at a meeting two years ago to deliver a speech that praised the private equity industry.  And now, we have the new reports that his ex-wife, Marianne Gingrich, told ABC’s Brian Ross that Gingrich had asked her for an "open marriage." He wanted to keep seeing whoever he wanted, she said, while he was attending a Baptist church and doing a speaking circuit on family and religious values.  And I won't even bother going into his lambasting of Bill Clinton's moral character during his affair with Monica Lewinsky. 

Bigot - Gingrich was horribly applauded at the SC Republican debate by defending his remarks when he said that "black Americans should demand jobs, not food stamps" and proposed that "poor kids lack a work ethic ... and should work as janitors in their schools."  And to saddle this along with his arrogance, he sees nothing wrong with those statements despite the fact that a black American points out to him that those statements are offensive and racist.

So if they ever decide to remake "9 to 5", I think there is a shoe-in for the part of Consolidated's pig boss, Mr. Hart.  I only hope he's not a shoe-in for the presidency.  America - you really are smarter than this!

How to Quicken Awards Shows

I have the best idea on how to make awards shows move along more quickly and minimize the boring factor:

Every person nominated for an award must submit a list of names for 'thank you's'.  If this person's name is called as the winner in his/her category, this list of names will then scroll - much like credits at the end of a film - while the winner walks to the stage to accept the trophy.  Since award show directors will know where each winner is seated before hand, as well as how long the list of names is, they should be able to accurately time the scrolling to end by the time the winner is at the microphone.  THEN - the winner has 30 seconds to gush without mentioning anyone beyond a spouse or family.

Boo-yah!

Canadian TV, Here I Come!

Last week, my cardiologist called me and asked if I wanted to be part of a 5-part story on Canadian TV about heart disease becoming more prevalent in younger patients.  I said, "but of course!".  So last night it happened.

I went to my doctor's office for the interview and was met by my doctor, the person in charge of media for Northwestern Memorial Hospital, and a reporter and cameraman from the news station in Toronto.  They filmed my doctor and I going through a usual checkup: blood pressure check (117/72, y'all!), listening to my lungs, checking hearts rates while sitting and laying down.  All routine stuff.  At that point, my doctor left the scene and it was time for my personal interview.

The first question from the reporter was, "so you unbelievably had a heart attack in your 30's?"  And from there I recounted my escapade from almost 7 years ago now, which you can find here.   It was interesting talking about this again, since its been a few years since I have so fully recounted it all. 

After the interview, they took some cheesy footage of me shopping in a grocery store for vegetable, bypassing the chips aisle, shots of the shopping carts wheels rolling along - all the stuff that will be cut and woven into the piece during my interview.  I think.

Not sure when it will air, but it is an interesting story.  More and more people in their 20's are being diagnosed with heart disease.  When asked my opinion, I blamed computers and video games for causing us to be more sedentary.  While I don't necessary think that was MY particular problem, I was still heralded by the reporter and my doctor for participating in this endeavor.  The reporter reminded me that during the day, I work to make children's lives better, and now after hours I am doing the same thing for young adults. 

Perhaps this is why all that stuff happened 7 years ago.

Leave Tebow Alone

No, I am not a big fan of Tim Tebow or the Denver Broncos.  But I think the hassles he experiences because he is a practicing Christian is over the top.  Nothing he has done affects anyone other than himself.  So he takes a few moments and says a little prayer for strength or thanks.  I don't see the big deal.  The man is confident in his religion and, last I checked, it was still a right for any US citizen to practice whatever religion he/she chooses.

As long as his actions/deeds/words don't directly affect another person, the sports world needs to get over itself and let the man alone.

Did Christmas Happen?

Went back to work yesterday and was met with the usual, "How was your holiday?" and "Did you have a nice Christmas?".  And, of course, my usual response was, "It was really nice, thanks.  How was yours?"

(Not that anyone really cares.)

But as I began to reflect throughout the day, I stopped myself at one point and wondered if Christmas had really happened.  I remember traveling; I remember lighted trees and lots of food; I remember seeing family.  But when I reflect, it seems to me that something was missing.  For some reason, it's almost as if I am recalling a Christmas that happened a year ago or longer, or even one that I have imagined.  But it doesn't seem real.

Those who know me well know I love Christmas:  I love the weeks leading up to it, the shopping, the carols, the tired, tired, tired shows that play year after year.  I love it all.  But this year, for some reason, notsomuch.

Tucker

Last Thursday, I received a message from my friend Jeffrey that was nothing short of heartbreaking:

Dop  - since you were one of T’s most important friends, I thought I’d let you know that we’re taking him in to the vet at noon on Friday to be put down. His Multiple Myeloma is in full force and he’s getting weaker by the hour. It’s all so sad and MK and I are very, very upset. But we know it’s for the best, as painful as it is. Thanks for all your love and support over the years. You guys are really part of T’s family, and ours too.

Tucker, or "T", was a gorgeous golden retriever owned by previous neighbors of mine in DC.  Back in 2001, I lived in an English basement apt next door to their townhouse.  One day while sitting in my living room, I heard scratching at my door.  I opened it to find a yellow ball of fur smiling up at me.  From that moment, one of the great love affairs of my life began. Jeffrey and Michael (both of whom I had yet to meet) apologized to me that Tucker had jumped through the fence and wound up at my door.   This became a trend for the next few weeks until Tucker was big enough to leash and take for walks.  Occasionally I would walk next door to see if Tucker could come out to play.  He had a history of being mischievous and undisciplined, but when he walked with me, he never pulled on the leash and he sat at every intersection.

When Jeffrey and Michael would travel, I would move into their house and babysit the T-man, sometimes for a few weeks at a time.  Even after I moved to Chicago in 2005, I would fly back to DC to stay with him for a week or so.  We'd go for very long walks, lay in the sun on the back deck, sit on the front steps and people-watch. 

Two years ago, Tucker began fighting multiple myeloma.  And on Friday, December 30th, the fight ended.  Despite that I've not seen Tucker in over 18 months, my heart has been hurting ever since.  I mourn him as I would mourn any friend who listened to my problems, greeted me with love, walked by my side, and just sat with me watching the world go by.

Resurrection 2012

After an absence of a few years, I have been goaded into have been begged to have been warned I better have been convinced with a weapon decided to restart my blog so that I can vent my opinions onto an unsuspecting world rather than drone on about them to a small group of close friends.  Why not share the wealth, I say?  With a new year comes a new lease on my literary life.  And who knows, it could be fun again.  I probably won't have the large group of followers I once had (Hi, England, Germany and Australia!), but hopefully I also won't have the ones who made this a not-so-enjoyable experience as well.

So please check back furiously and often.  I promise to expound just like in the good ol' days.

Happy New Year!

It Gets Better

I was pretty much all but finished with this blog. Two years ago, I patted myself on the back for a job well done and figured this venture was finished. I figured I was done with this exercise and if I ever decided to post again, it would take a really big event to cause me to put my emotions into words again. And sadly, recent events have caused me to recall long hidden feelings - feelings that were gone, but not forgotten, buried deep enough to not rule my life, yet still cause me pain. These feelings shaped who I've since become as an adult. Because as I have reflected on my life as a youth over the last few weeks, I've come to agree with so many other people who have said that, yes - it gets better.


My youth was hard. That's it, very plain and not so simple. Being me as a kid was incredibly, incredibly hard. Adults can think back to when they were teased or "picked on" as children; I think back and can't remember a time when I wasn't. I doubt anyone in my family could realize or comprehend what I went through as a kid, the amount of hatred that was thrown at me every day by people who didn't know me, and even from people who did. The emotional abuse, the actual vitriol I suffered at the hands of bullies - and all for no apparent reason, I figured.


I was a good kid. I was a nice kid. I wasn't mean to anyone. I went to Sunday School and was a Cub Scout. I was a good speller and I could draw. I spent most of my weekends with my grandmother - just her and me at her house. I didn't get invited to other kids' houses, or to birthday parties, or to sleepovers. I didn't have any friends, so I'm not sure how anyone could have thought I deserved what I was getting. How could people hate me if they didn’t even know me? Why would they make the effort to hurt me instead of making the effort to meet me? Day. After day. After day. But I got it just the same. Day. After day. After day.


It's horrible to hear hatred spewed at you from people you don't know. You think they can see through you or something; even see what you don't see, which makes you question yourself and who you are; makes you doubt everything you believe in; makes you wonder if it's worth going through at all. Makes you wonder how much more you can take. "It toughens you up" I'd be told. "Everyone goes through it. Everyone gets teased a little". Maybe that's true, but whether it's "a little teasing”, a constant barrage of degradation, or anywhere in between - it doesn't make it right. Being teased and bullied shouldn't be a rite of passage.


My first recollection of being called a name was in 2nd Grade – by a teacher. My PE teacher, Mr. Critchfield, said to me – on the playground in front of the class – “you’re a sissy and you play like a girl.” With that, I turned around and walked off the playground, entered the school and went to my classroom where I planned on spending the rest of the period. A few minutes later, a student came in and said Mr. Critchfield wanted me back on the playground. I refused. A few minutes after that, Mr. Critchfield came in and told me to stop crying (which I wasn’t) and get back on the playground. That night, I went home and told my mom what happened. I’m not sure what she did at that point, but the following week Mr. Critchfield apologized to me, and then he was gone by the end of the school year. Little did it matter, because he planted a seed in the minds of all my classmates. Maybe they’d never thought it before, maybe it hadn’t occurred to them, maybe they hadn’t even noticed. But it was like a light switch went on, and suddenly every kid in my class had carte blanche to call me names, harass me, bully me, tease me, and otherwise hurt my feelings. Day. After day. After day.


I couldn't understand why he called me a “sissy”. Was it just because I didn't play sports well? I tried, I wasn't coordinated enough. I tried playing on the church basketball league, and little league baseball on the Lashley Jets team. I didn't have good hand/eye coordination or something - I couldn't hit, I couldn't catch and I sure couldn’t throw. I quit playing team sports because I knew I was no good at it, and realized I was no good for the teams I was on. But that didn't stop my teammates from calling me names.


As years in elementary school gave way to junior high and high school, "sissy" turned into "queer", "fag" and "faggot". I heard that last word a lot. Friends didn't materialize in junior high school either. I didn't have anyone to sit with during lunch, so for all 4 years of high school I skipped lunch completely and sat in the library instead. Did it bother me – yes. Did I cry – tons. Did I ever let it show – never. Did it make me a stronger person – probably. Is that a good thing – who knows.


When you're young - and you are constantly teased and bullied - it never occurs to you that it will eventually all come to an end - that it gets better. It will get better and it does get better. It just doesn't seem like it at the time. You wonder "why me?" and do things like taking different hallways to avoid people, and not using the school restrooms all day because you don't know who is waiting in there and what might be waiting for you, and not doing the things you want to do because you just don't want to hear the comments and whispers anymore. It got so bad for me, that I acted out by skipping school a lot during 10th and 11th grades just because I wanted to be left alone. It’s amazing the lengths you’ll go, physically and emotionally, to save yourself from pain. But I am only on the Earth today because - then - I didn’t feel significant enough as a human being to be worthy of the fuss and attention I would receive if I were to choose otherwise.


By my senior year in high school, I realized that what they had been saying about me for all these years was actually true. I was those things. It took me a long time to accept because I wasn’t sure if I was those things because I really was, or because I had been told so often by other people that I just accepted it as fact. Along with graduation day came the serenity and optimism I had so long dreamed of. I realized that from then on, I would always be able to leave a place when I was uncomfortable. I no longer had to subject myself or surround myself with people who hate me, people who remind me every day that I am not worthy of anything. From now on, I thought – I hoped - I have the control.


Because of the verbal and emotional abuse I suffered as a teen, it took me a long time to fully accept who I was, and by extension tell my family about my life. I figured my family was living in blissful ignorance – they all probably knew but never talked about it. I held fears of being rejected or cast out by the people I loved and needed most. But I continued to hold on to something my mom said to me many years ago when I was in my late teens. One night, she caught me crying, which was rare. I always prided myself on not letting the emotions show. But I said to her, “I never thought there would ever be anything I couldn’t tell you.” And my mom touched my arm and said to me, “You can tell me anything. I might not understand it right away, but that’s MY issue, not your’s.” And then it all made sense – my being gay was not my problem or any problem for that matter. If someone doesn’t like me for who I am, that’s their problem, not mine. I was finally free to live my life, be my own person, and to hell with anyone who couldn’t or wouldn’t accept it.


I also came to realize something as an adult that I wish someone would have told me when I was a teen. A bully doesn’t tease you to make you feel bad, he does it to make himself feel better. A person will only rip you down when they don’t feel good about themselves. It doesn’t make it right, but it does take some of their power away. Those who are insecure, afraid, and powerless will lash out at those who are not. Think about that. And be proud of who you are. It gets better.


I knew at some point I needed to tell my family. It was an important thing for me to do for myself. I didn’t want to be at the end of my life with these people whom I had spent a lifetime with, only for them to wonder who I was. Because I moved away from home, all my family knew about me was what I chose to share with them. I didn’t have children divulging my secrets or a spouse reporting how I spent my day. I was in control. And I shared only what I wanted to. And for a long time, I liked it that way. But eventually I knew that I wanted them to know everything. I didn’t set a time limit. I figured I would just know when the time was right.


I officially came out to my sister when I was 25. My sister – who once beat up an older boy on the bus because she overheard him call me a name. My great champion throughout my entire life was the first person I could finally confide in about who I was. Perhaps of anyone, her acceptance was the one I needed most. And when I told her, she was completely unphased. Without batting an eyelash, she simply said, “Oh I know, but congratulations on telling me.”


I came out to my parents when I was 31. My mom’s reaction was pretty much the same as my sister’s. My dad simply said, “Well I had NO idea.” When I pressed him as to whether he ever thought about it, he said, “Well, yeah I guess I thought about it a long time ago, but then it just never occurred to me after that. I mean it’s your life, live it how you want to.” I was never really sure if he really, truly meant that or if it was even true. Regardless, it was what I needed to hear. And if he had a problem with it at all – he never once let me know it.


And only about 3 years ago I finally came out to my two brothers. I was bringing my partner home to meet my family for the first time, and since I have never done anything like that before, I wanted them to understand the gravity of the situation, and its importance in my life. Without question, my partner was welcomed into the family. One of my brother’s sent me an email a few months ago, and in it he wrote the sentence, “I was thinking you have kind of been the only one of us to be in a normal relationship over the past few years.” I doubt there is anything he could have written that would have made me any more proud of my family. It was validation that they see my life as I have always seen it: normal. After years and years of being told that you are bad, and evil and everything wrong, it’s incredibly gratifying to here that you are normal. See, it gets better.


Today, I live in Chicago with my partner of 5 years. Our relationship is loving, supportive, and fun. We live in a beautiful loft and we have amazing friends – some gay, some not. He knows my family, I know his. I spend my days working at a children’s charity, ironically helping those kids who can’t help themselves. I am at the most gratifying place in my life I have ever been. And when I think back on the past 26 years, it saddens me to think of all the things I would have missed had I not remained strong, proud, and confident that life would eventually get better. I didn’t deserve any of it, and no one – boy or girl, child or adult – should have to go through what I went through. But if my test in life was to go through all that I did in order to have what I have now, then it was worth it. Because, it gets better.


It gets so much better.

Photic Sneeze Reflex

So Mrs. McFarland, my Advanced Biology teacher in high school was wrong - there actually IS a reason I sneeze whenever I walk from indoors to outdoors and into direct sunlight. Sneezing as the result of being exposed to a bright light—known as the photic sneeze reflex—is a genetic quirk that is still unexplained by science, even though it has intrigued some of history's greatest minds, and affects anywhere from 1/10 to 1/3 of the population.

It happens to me, especially when the sun is very strong and it is warmer than 80F degrees. Mrs. McFarland said there was no such thing. And perhaps back then, nothing had been proven. And even now, it's all really speculation. All I know is, I'm pretty consistent about doing it.

I Saw You

I'm not sure if you saw me because our eyes never connected. But I saw you. And I saw what you were doing. And I am just so disappointed in you.

I can't help it that I feel let down by your behavior. And what pisses me off just as much is that I am choosing this very passive/aggressive way to let you know about it. Even though I rarely shy away from confrontation and have no problem voicing my opinion, I've decided to post my disapproval on this blog which you will probably never read anyway. And if you do read it, you probably won't think it's directed at you - but it is.

Basically, what you do in your relationship is entirely your business, I guess. But when you go around and spout off about how wonderful your partner is and how much you love him and how lucky you are to have found him - and then I see you cheating on him so blatantly, it just angers me. You may argue that you were only kissing someone else. But in my book, kissing - and very deep, passionate kissing like I saw you doing - counts as cheating. Your partner would probably agree with me.

It's been my experience that those people who boast loudly about their monogamy, don't truly practice it. But I thought you might be different. You were sort of a role model - so open and loving, so accepting of his quirks and faults, and so much in love, or so you said.

From here out I will mind my own business and not say anything more about it. But if I saw you, so did other people. And they might not be as quiet about it - this time or the next.

Butch/Femme

I've noticed something about gay couples.

With lesbian couples, there seems to be a high concentration of a butch/femme mix. Many of the lesbian pairings I see are made up of one somewhat feminine woman (layered clothes, cute hairstyle, handbag, talking on the phone) and one rather masculine one (ball cap, wallet in back jeans pocket, no makeup). This isn't true of all lesbian couples, mind you, but these kinds of pairings do seem to be more frequent than with gay men.

I rarely, if ever, see the same kind of contrast with gay male couples; differences in age, perhaps, but not much difference in age and almost never a difference in level of masculinity. Taking The BF and I into exception, gay male couples seem to be almost cookie cutter images of each other. The BF and I are very physically different from each other (he's 4 inches taller, I'm 70 pounds heavier, he's 12 years younger - go me!). I used to know one couple back in DC where one was extremely masculine and the other was just a flamer. But that was back in the 80's just as gay men were making the shift from the 70's bathhouse clones to the health-conscious, gym-crazed bunnies of the 90's.

I can't speak on behalf of women, but there are many gay men who consider their partners to be a reflection of themselves. It's a holdover from the importance of being "straight-acting" - we don't want our partner to "give us away" in public if we can pull off looking straight. I'm actually glad this idea is slowly going out of the window. As men and women begin coming out at earlier ages, and thus become more socially acceptable, the need to fit in with what is considered "the norm" is not so prevalent. And then, hopefully, more men will be willing to allow themselves to really look at another man for who he is and what he stands for, instead of just how he stands.

Anyway, it's just something I noticed.

Water For Elephants

For the last two years or so, I've become a voracious reader - more so now than at any other time in my life. I used to hate to read books, partly because of the time commitment, but also because there are few things that can hold my fascination for any length of time. I tended to read books that were more a collection of essays rather than an actual story with a plot, dénouement, and developed characters.

But as my life seemed to calm down, so did my attention span. So I am now able to commit to reading novels and stories longer than what is considered "bathroom reading". And for the most part, I've found I read more books by male authors than female authors - mostly because I've found that female authors are a bit more descriptive and emotional in their writing. Men tend to deal more with facts (be them fiction or not).

However, I just finished reading a book titled Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen. I originally bought the book for my trip to LA, but I got so engrossed in the characters and development that I was afraid I would finish the book before my trip even started. Told in flashbacks by a nursing home-ridden 90-something year old, it recounts his life following the death of his parents, finding himself virtually homeless, and running off to join a circus as the veterinarian. Every character he meets is so well-defined, and each experience so well-explained, it was like watching a movie in my head. I can easily see this made into a film, and I'd bet money on the fact that it will be. I'm aware that almost every book published is bought by a studio "just in case", but I'm sure this one will be developed.

I originally bought the book because I think elephants are so fascinating. And the story doesn't diminish my interest in them. Some parts of the book reminded me of Mitch Albom's The 5 People You Meet In Heaven, which I also enjoyed. I'm not normally a reader of fiction, preferring biographies and memoirs to anything else, but both of these books were good reads.

Maggie Gyllenhaal

Basically, I can't stand her. And I wonder why and how she continues to get cast in anything. She seems to play the same "I buck the system/I don't care about anything/I don't shave my armpits" kind of character. She's the mouthy sidekick, the flippant server, the sassy secretary. This might have worked for Eve Arden back in the 40's, but it doesn't work for Maggie. I've never cared about nor felt empathy for any character she's played. What's worse, she seems to go largely unbilled on films so she shows up in movies that I would otherwise not watch if I knew she was in them. And she always seems to have a boob popping out.

I'm sure she's a nice person and all, but her body of work kinda sucks. I pretty much feel the same way about her brother - I just don't see what the big deal is. Sure, they're attractive in a "nose too long for your face" kind of way, but those doe eyes only get you so far. Just the thought of you taking it up the butt doesn't attract me to you - or you either, Jake.

Charleston, SC

This past weekend, The BF and I traveled to Charlston for the wedding of one of his high school friends. By now I've met most of his college friends. But this was a step even further back in time to meet a group of people with whom he shared his latter childhood, friends he's had over 10 years. What amazes me is how devoted The BF is to his friendships. He does an amazing job at maintaining his friendships. There's no one from my high school days with whom I keep in touch - now or when I was 30, for that matter.

High school was not a bad experience for me, but I only had a small handful of close friendships. I knew every kid in school, but I didn't belong to a group or clique. So my high school friendships dissipated with high school itself. For a short while, I kept in touch with Dave, Leslie, and Chris. But then life happened - my real life. And somehow high school didn't seem to be a real part of my life anymore. Nor did the people I knew then.

So going into this situation was daunting - I was the first boyfriend The BF would introduce to these people. Of the 7 other couples with whom we shared a beach house for three days, we were the only gay couple. And it was easy to see why The BF has kept these people in his life. All were welcoming an accommodating. They were as interested in me as I was in them, and what I thought would be a painful experience turned out to be friendly and informative.

But back to Charleston - the place was hot!!! Just like during out trip to LA a few weeks ago, we arrived in Charleston at the start of an unprecedented heat wave. The wedding was Friday night and we arrived the day before. Those two days were spent on rehearsals, dinners (we strongly recommend Joseph's Restaurant on Meeting Street) , pool parties and the actual wedding. But on Saturday, as we all said goodbye to each other, The BF and I joined another of his high school/college friends and his partner, and the four of us meandered around Charleston in the 98 degree heat, killing time until our 6:00pm flight back home.

For our flight home, we scored the best seats I've ever had on a plane - two seater exit row with no row of seats in front of us. Somehow, we didn't mind sitting on the plane for 50 minutes between push off and take off. It was nice to finally have The BF all to myself again after sharing him with all these lovely strangers. We've been living together for 6 weeks now, taking two trips, and spending alot of time together. In some ways, it seems like we've been doing this for years, and in other ways, it seems like we've only been living together for a week. If this keeps up, life will be a cake walk.

Toys Make You Gay

Here is a list of the Top 10 toys that made you gay.

(However, if you are over 40 like me, you might not recognize some of these. We'll just have to make due with GI Joe, Slinky and Lincoln Logs.)

Match.Com

A recently aired commercial for match.com requests people to login to the site to chat with its most experienced members. And that confuses me.

Who exactly are the "most experienced members" of match.com? Isn't the very idealistic nature of the website supposed to be for someone to sign on, find someone with the same likes and dislikes, go on a date, and then get married and stay together forever? If that defines success, than how can you be one of THE MOST successful? Are these people who only signed on once and found their ideal person when viewing the first profile? Even if it takes someone several tries to find "the

Match.com has alot of things going for it. For one thing, its not e-harmony. Unlike that site, match.com caters to everyone - straight and gay - and I know a gay couple who met each other on match.com about 4 years ago and are still together. Internet dating has a lot going for it. It used to be almost taboo and people were almost embarrassed to tell anyone they met that way. The internet was mostly for looking up information, viewing porn, and finding sex hookups. While it is still all three of those things for some people, it has grown in validity as an acceptable dating tool as well. And match.com is one of the good sites, which is why it bugs me that they now have this current gimmick to get people to use it.

Really, anyone who finds another person to love is successful, regardless of how they met or how long it took them to get there. I doubt one person is any more successful at it than another. When a couple celebrates their 50th wedding anniversary after meeting on match.com - THAT will be a success story. Otherwise, until then, the "most successful" are just people who have found some form of happiness, however long it lasted.

And besides, like they say, it's okay to look.

How Much Is That Nudie In The Window?

Every gayborhood has one -- at least one if not more. I'm talking about the guy who is a bit of an exhibitionist and keeps his blinds purposely open so the public can see what he's doing. I've seen one in Chicago so far. This guy lives in a basement apartment up next to the sidewalk, so he's very accessible. He never closes is blinds and we've caught him sitting on his couch (which is under the window) on his laptop looking at porn, which is very visible when passing by. It confuses me what he's trying to gain by doing this.

In DC, the local exhibitionist lived in a row house on P Street, NW between 17th and 18th. He'd stand naked in his window and then when you noticed him, he backed into his otherwise darkened room. The first time I saw it, I wasn't sure I had, until a few steps later I turned to my friend and said, "Did you just see that?" When my friend confirmed, we basically agreed the dude was weird.

We also thought - erroneously - that it was a random sighting. But not so. Almost every Sunday night, on our walk from the Dupont Metro to JR's on 17th, we'd see the guy. After about 4 weeks of this, I'd had enough. So after we passed the guy's house and saw him again, I turned around to go back.

"Where are you going?", my friend asked.

"Well he clearly wants people to notice him, so I'm going to let him know I noticed him."

"Don't do that! Dop, come back here!"

"No, I'm gonna get to the bottom of this."

So I walked up the stoop to the front door and banged on it.

"Hello! Hello in there! OK, yes, we see you. You want people to notice you? OK, we noticed. Happy? Now what? Do you invite me in? Did you want to hook up? What are you trying to gain by standing naked in your window, you pervert? There could be children out here. You want to be noticed so badly? Well, here I am sweetheart!"

No answer.

"You're gonna get yourself shot one of these days," my friend said.

"I just wanted to know what I'm supposed to do. He's putting it out there, hoping to elicit some kind of response, so I gave him one."

Perhaps it was mere coincidence, but we never saw him in the window again.

IML 2008

It's that time of year again - time for thousands of leather-loving men to descend upon the Windy City in all their regalia.

For the leather community, it's life at its most dynamic. And for the rest of it, it's pretty much the best people-watching event of the year: the hunks, the freaks, the clones, the frightening, and all those manimal breeds (bears, wolves, otters, bulls, pups, cubs, etc.) and the disgusting smell that sometimes comes with the whole shebang. In any event, it's a hoot. And like the last two years, we'll be going to the expo one day, and then heading to the hotel lobby to gawk at everyone.

More about our LA trip next week, but for now have a safe and fun weekend!

We Loved LA, Part III

On Sunday, to escape the heat between The BF's 12-person brunch at The Sportsmen's Lodge and the 14-person dinner at Marix Tex Mex in Hollywood (both incredible), we decided to take in a movie at The Arclight Cinemas Dome on Sunset Boulevard. At first we had trouble trying to find the entrance to the building from the sidewalk, until The BF realized that since this was LA and nobody walks anywhere, the entrance must be closer to the garage. And, badda bing, there it was.

The movie - Iron Man. Had we been in Chicago, I probably would not have gone to see this movie. I'm not one for war movies with planes and missles and all the super hero stuff. But you go Robert Downey Jr. What a comeback. To have such a public downfall, he's made the smartest choice of his career by playing a man who is as flawed as Downey admitted to being in his own life at one point. And by the end of the movie, the character has had no real epiphany or given up all of his vices, but he does come to understand the difference between right and wrong - a lesson we all learn as we get older, just like Downey himself has seemed to. The movie was exciting. And Gwyneth Paltrow didn't even get on my nerves once!

The kicker of the afternoon was that we had one more celebrity sighting in the theatre lobby after the movie: none other than RuPaul sans drag. He's tall, freckled, bald and it looks like he's had something done, and by something I mean ribs removed. Even in a polo shirt, it was obvious that he sinks way in around the waistline.

Still, he counts as a celebrity if not the gayest one possible.

More to come . . .